Another Team
by AglonAuthor
Summary: The Avengers aren't the only heroes out there. Meet the Defenders, a team assembled by HELP. The Avengers run into the Defenders on a mission and decide to get to know each other. One-shot. Collab with Noodle Fanatic.


The penthouse of Stark Tower was bustling with excitement and intrigue. That day hadn't ordinary in the least. The Avengers were sent on a mission that was meant to be simple – get in, get the files, get out. However, they were beaten to the punch by another team sent by another organization. The Defenders: a team assembled by HELP – that was Human Enhancement Laboratories Program. SHIELD and HELP had been aware of each other since the beginning, but both had common goals and common intents, so did not think of each other as threats. In fact, Director Carden and Director Fury would often exchange ideas for new projects.

The Defenders had six team members – Arnold Papke: the assassin, Kenzie Quincy: the spy, Atalanta: the goddess, Rosabell Faucheux: the burglar, Vivian Austin: the hacker, and Sandra Wright: the leader. A team together for five years, the Defenders knew each other well, but there were still secrets between them. That night more than one secret was definitely revealed.

Sandra and Steve were sitting on the couch in the middle of the room, talking about their duties as their respective teams' leader. "Don't get me wrong," said Sandra, a slight southern tang to her voice, "I love every member of my team to death and I would trust them with my life in a heartbeat…But," she shook her head and took a sip of her coke, "sometimes they just do as they please."

Steve nodded and copied Sandra's actions, taking a drink of his soda as well. "I understand completely. They're normally good about following through with the plan, but – occasionally – Stark has a plan of his own."

Sandra smiled and sighed. "Vivian does as well. I mean, she's a sweet girl and she means well, but she needs to learn to do what she's told when she's told to do it."

Steve's lip quirked up a bit in a small smile. He stared into his half filled soda can. He glanced over to Sandra. "So, Ms. Wright, where are you from? I hear an accent."

Sandra shrugged and her face went a shade pinker than normal. "Kentucky. I grew up there and just got away six years ago." She laughed to herself. "I was very secluded. Homeschooled nearly my entire life. Until high school, when my parents let me go to public school, I just about never left the farm – and when I did it was just to the tiny, nearby hick-town to get gasoline or some supplies. We were self sufficient. The thing was, since I was so secluded for so long, going to high school came as…" Sandra searched for the words, "a huge shock. I had no idea how to talk to other girls about boy bands or the newest movie. It was a crazy culture shock." She looked at Steve and straightened up. "But I-I'm positive your experience was a bigger shock," she added hastily.

Steve smiled and finished of his soda. "Well, you aren't wrong." He set the can down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. "So how'd you handle it?"

Sandra pursed her lips and shrugged. "I just went with it. I made a few friends and they caught me up. I joined the cheer team and that helped a lot." She shook her head and took a sip. "But I was isolated again when I graduated. I wanted to become a pediatrician, but my parents were determined to have me take over the family business. The farm had been in the family for…generations," Sandra said with a sigh. "My older brother had gone off to who knows where, leaving without a trace and clearly with no intent of returning, and my younger brother had…medical conditions," said Sandra slowly. She looked down at her empty can. "He, uh, he was the reason I wanted to be a pediatrician. He had asthma and a really bad case of it too. That's all we knew about, but there was definitely more. I was on the farm for two years when I finally left. My brother, he…" Sandra swallowed, "…he passed away just after I left the farm." Sandra put her face in her hands. "If I had just left after I graduated and if I had just gotten a head-start on my studies I could've…I-I could've…" She sighed and shook her head, pulling her hands down her face. "And I'm not even any kind of doctor now. HELP found me and recruited me. I volunteered for experiments and I was…enhanced…But afterwards I was-I was stuck. I wanted to go study but they needed me to stay as an agent. If had just left and–" Sandra cut herself off. "I know…" she said quietly, "it's not my fault, I shouldn't blame myself, I know. I realize it's not my fault…but…but–"

"You can't help but feel responsible?" Steve finished in question. Sandra looked up at him and swallowed nervously before nodding. Steve nodded. "I understand the feeling completely." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Back during the war I worked with a lot of good men, and I lost a lot of those good men. I know I didn't have a hand in their deaths, but I couldn't help but feel I had something to do with it in some way."

Sandra smiled sadly. "I guess we have more in common than we first thought."

"Well I thought we had a lot in common at first," Steve said with a smile, and the two leaders chuckled.

Two couches away, Rosabell sat on the furthest left cushion, grimacing as Dr. Banner attended to the cut on her forehead. Arnold was standing by Rosabell's side, holding her hand tightly. "Will they need stitches, Doc?" Rosabell asked. A mild French accent was in her steady voice.

Bruce managed a smile. "I'm not that kind of doctor."

Rosabell raised an eyebrow but immediately regretted it. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm the closest we've got." He finished dressing up the wound and put his things back into the first-aid kit. "Done," he said, snapping the case shut.

Rosabell wrung her hands. "Thanks. I usually heal pretty quickly, but with deeper cuts I could use a head-start."

"Are you alright?" Arnold asked softly.

Rosabell nodded. "Yes, thank you, Arnold."

Arnold reached into his pocket and pulled out a few squares of chocolate. "Here," he said. "I know it isn't quality, but it's what I've got." He put them into Rosabell's hand.

Rosabell smiled up at the towering assassin. "Thanks," she muttered. Arnold nodded and walked over to the bar.

Bruce took a seat on the cushion next to her. He looked at the candy in her hand as she began unwrapping it. "Chocolate?"

Rosabell shrugged. "Going full beast can be hard on me," she said, tossing a piece into her mouth. "I didn't think I would need to today so I wasn't prepared." She held up a piece. "Chocolate helps relax my muscles and get completely back to normal." She ate another piece.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Rosabell shook her head. "No. I just tell them that so they give me chocolate." She smiled and ate the last square. Bruce chuckled and Rosabell shrugged. "But, hey – it's a mental thing; it doesn't actually work but you believe it does so it makes you feel better anyway."

Bruce smiled and shifted on the couch. "They call you the burglar," he said. Rosabell blushed. "Why's that?"

Rosabell cleared her throat. "Well…" she began, "I grew up in France. I was from a poor family, and I turned to…less legal methods of earning money." She wrung her hands nervously and looked at the floor in guilt. "I began stealing. Simple things at first, pick pocketing, mild shoplifting, the things people normally don't get caught for. But then I started getting good at it – in fact – I enjoyed it. I'd pick pocket just for fun sometimes. And no one could ever track me since pick pocketing is so common in Europe. But after a while…I moved on to bigger things than wallets and Rolexes. I began stealing art. I began with homes – the rich who had famous pieces. But then…by the time I was twenty one I had stolen from the Louvre."

Bruce's eyes widened. "What did you take?"

Rosabell blushed and grimaced. "…The Mona Lisa…?"

Banner was in shock. "The Mona Lisa? I don't remember it ever being stolen in the past several decades!"

"Interpol kept it low," Rosabell said, "they didn't want the media all over it. They said the wing containing the Mona Lisa was 'closed for repair' and they got to work on getting it back. I sold it back to the government two days later. I only asked for a thousand quid, and they graciously agreed to the terms. I just wanted to see what I could do."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Well…where have you heisted before?"

Rosabell bit her lip then began counting off on her fingers. "Louvre, Musée National d'Art Moderne, Musée d'Orsay, Musée de l'Orangerie – I do love Claude Monet. British Museum – where I managed to swipe the Rosetta Stone – I gave it back though, I was just bored. National Gallery in London – I got Sunflowers, the Van Gogh painting. National Portrait Gallery in London, National Galleries of Scotland, The MET – that was a hard job, nearly got caught. National Gallery of Art in Washington DC, Art Institute of Chicago – I swiped eight paintings in one night, I was proud of that one for the longest time. Guggenheim Museum, Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, National Museum of Korea – that was a tough one, my first heist that didn't involve paintings. Museu Picasso, Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Rijksmuseum, Van Gogh Museum – I stole four pieces there (I have a soft spot for Van Gogh), National Museum of Western Art in Tokyo, National Gallery of Victoria, Queensland Art Gallery, Art Gallery of New South Wales, State Hermitage Museum, Moscow Kremlin, Tretyakov Gallery, Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, Royal Ontario Museum, Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Art Gallery of Ontario, Pergamon Museum, Neues Museum, Shanghai Museum, National Art Museum of China, National Palace Museum in Taipei, Museo Soumaya, Acropolis Museum, and the Israel Museum."

Rosabell stopped at stared at her hands. That was thirty-seven heists. She swallowed and turned to look at Bruce. He had an expression Rosabell couldn't quite read. She attempted to smile but it fell quickly. "W-Wow," she stuttered as her hands shook. "I…I've never stopped to count them before." She stared at her hands again and they were shaking aggressively. "I didn't…I didn't know I…" Rosabell bit her lip. "That's a lot of paintings…" She blinked slowly and continued staring at her trembling hands. "And that's only counting the museums. What about those homes I broke into? That-That makes over f-fifty. A-And the stores I stole from? Over a hundred and thirty, I-I'd estimate. But if…if you were to count the number of people I've pick pocketed?" Rosabell did some quick calculating and quick estimating in her head. Her eyes widened but remained fixed on her shaking hands. "Holy sh…" Rosabell faltered out as she found the number. "That-That's hundreds. I have stolen from hundreds, HUNDREDS, of people. Who knows, maybe around a thousand?" Rosabell shook her head. "And that's not even counting the number of security cards, IDs, badges, and phones I've swiped off of people for missions." Rosabell opened and closed her mouth several times. "A-And who knows what that leads up to – thousands? Have I really robbed th-thousands of people?"

Bruce grabbed her shoulder. "Rosabell?" The HELP agent was still staring at her hands. Banner gave her a light shake. "Rosabell?" The woman snapped out of it and looked at the doctor. She seemed like she was on the verge of tears. "When did HELP contact you?"

Rosabell swallowed and wrung her hands. "T-Ten years ago."

"Ten years ago," Bruce said with a nod. "You've gone straight, haven't you?" Rosabell nodded. "You're one of the good guys now. In ten years you've done more good than you've ever done wrong, Rosabell."

Rosabell's mouth twitched into a smile. "Rose."

"Hm?"

"Just…call me Rose." She smiled at Bruce. "Thank you, Doctor, I needed that."

Bruce smiled as well. "If it's Rose, then it's Bruce too."

A little earlier, over at the bar, Arnold sat down next to Natasha and grabbed a beer with a sigh, glancing back at Rosabell. Nat raised an eyebrow. "So," she said, "you and Faucheux–"

"Yes," interrupted Arnold with his German accent and all, "we are a couple." He uncapped his bottle and took a swig. "We've been together for almost two months now."

Nat leaned back and looked around Arnold, spotting Bruce and Rosabell chatting. "So how long have you known each other?"

"Five years," Arnold answered. "We met when the team was assembled."

Natasha nosed and took a drink of her own. "So you're the assassin?"

"The hit man, the gunman, the mercenary, the hitter, the butcher…" Arnold trailed off and shrugged, taking another gulp of beer. "Take your pick – I'm sure I have other names I'm unaware of."

Natasha was silent for a moment. "I'm assuming you've got some stories."

Arnold nodded. "You can say that again." He rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a circular scar. "Sniper in London."

Nat pulled up her shirt a bit to reveal a scar of her own. "Gunman." She glanced at Steve briefly.

Arnold raised an eyebrow and rolled up his right pant leg mid-calf. A long, thin, dark scar ran down to his ankle. "Knife fight, Calcutta."

Natasha showed him one on her left shoulder. "Knife, Edinburgh."

Arnold had a burn scar all up his right leg. "Bomb, Kiev."

Natasha had a burn on her right shoulder blade. "Bomb, Berlin." Arnold raised an eyebrow. Natasha let her shirt cover her scar. "I hear you're a wanted man."

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Well, you don't exactly have a clean slate either."

"Where are you wanted?" Natasha asked quickly.

"Italy, Germany, Russia, India, I'm pretty sure the entire African continent, Greece, France, Brazil, Mexico, Australia, Canada–"

"Canada?" Nat interrupted with a laugh.

Arnold sighed and rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, well even Canada has laws."

"Well where are you NOT wanted?" Natasha questioned.

Arnold pretended to think for a moment. "Antarctica? Greenland?"

On the other side of the island bar, Kenzie was taking shots aggressively. Clint sat down next to her and raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

Kenzie downed another shot and sighed loudly, turning to Clint. "Wasn't exactly the easiest mission, Agent Barton."

Kenzie poured herself another shot and went to take it when Clint intercepted. Kenzie scowled towards him. "How many have you had?"

Kenzie rolled her eyes. "A few." Clint raised an eyebrow. "I can hold my alcohol, Barton," she muttered.

"You can call me Clint."

Kenzie nodded and tried to grab the shot, but Barton took it. Kenzie frowned. "Then you can call me Kenzie," she said, sinking into her barstool.

Clint smiled and drank the shot. He grabbed another glass. "So you're an archer, right?"

Kenzie nodded as Clint poured a shot into both glasses. "Yep," she said, popping the 'p'. "I won gold for Canada in the Olympics–" she held up two fingers, "–twice."

Clint's eyes widened. "Oh! Kenzie Quincy – I thought I recognized the name." He poured another shot and his brow furrowed. "Wait…you're Canadian?" Kenzie nodded and took a drink. "I don't hear an accent."

Kenzie shrugged. "I've lived in the states for a couple of years now. My accent comes out when I'm pissed, tired, or–" Kenzie looked into her shot-glass and stopped herself short.

"…Or what?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow.

"…Or drunk…"

Clint stared at her for a moment then stared at her empty shot-glass. He made eye contact again and grinned. Kenzie pursed her lips. "Fine." Clint fist pumped the air. Kenzie pushed her glass towards him. "Do your worst, Agent." Clint grabbed the bottle of alcohol and poured two shots.

Over near the elevator, Thor and Atalanta were talking. "So," said Thor, "your people were also considered gods?"

Atalanta nodded. "Yeah." She shrugged. "We're Olympians – the Greeks worshiped us." Thor nodded. "We live for about two, maybe two and a half millennia." Atalanta shrugged. "…Give or take."

"That is quite longer than Asgardians. About four times as long."

Atalanta smiled. "Yeah. Sometimes it can be a burden." She shrugged. "I actually had a husband for a while." Thor raised an eyebrow. "I didn't really like him though. Too dull." Atalanta shook her head. "I was being an idiot though – I fell for a stupid trick." She sighed and under her breath she muttered: "Freakin' golden apples…"

Thor turned to her. "You speak like a Midgardian," he noticed, "but you aren't of Earth."

Atalanta shook her head. "No, but I've lived here a long time. That's how I got rid of my husband. He wanted to live in Olympus more than anything. I decided living there with him would be worse than living on Earth without him." Atalanta shrugged. "And here I am."

Thor nodded. "How long have you been acquainted with the other members of your team?" he asked, looking around at the other Defenders.

"Five years," Atalanta said with a sigh. She gestured to Kenzie who was staring Clint intently in the eye as they took synchronized shots of hard liquor. "But I've known Kenzie for ten years." She turned back to Thor. "Every four years every country competes in a giant sports competition called the Olympics. I'm sure you notice the similarity of the the name and the name of my people." Thor nodded. "The original Olympics began to impress the Olympian gods and goddesses. I've gone every time since I decided to remain on Earth – I had the pleasure of meeting Kenzie when she won first place in archery ten years ago. Then six years ago she won again." Atalanta smiled. "She's one of the best." She glanced at Thor. "But I'm well aware Agent Barton is very, very good."

"He is an impressive archer."

Tony walked up to Atalanta with a glass of scotch in his hand. "Quick question," he said, staring up at the towering, blonde goddess, "people have climbed Mount Olympus before…"

Atalanta nodded. "Yes."

"So how does one…get to Olympus."

Atalanta smiled. "Mr. Stark, I know you are a science man, but I also know that you have a knack for getting into trouble." Tony made a face. "You don't plan on going looking for a way to Olympus, are you?"

Tony bit his lip and stared at Atalanta. "…Nope…" he said slowly.

The Greek goddess chuckled. "Well, you're out of luck. The entry is on Mount Olympus, but Olympians have a certain genetic code, you see. Similar to humans, but there are some mutations. The entrance is a dimensional distortion. If you were to have an Olympian genetic code you could pass right through."

Tony blinked at Atalanta for a moment before turning and facing the couches. "I told you they actually came from Mount Olympus, Banner!" he called out. Bruce looked up from his conversation with Rosabell and shrugged. Tony threw up his hands. Atalanta put a hand on his shoulder and Stark turned back around.

Atalanta jerked her head towards Vivian who was standing by the window, looking around the room at the others, looking nervous and lost. "Mr. Stark, do you think you could talk with Vivian? She's been staring at everyone else all night. She's told me she was very inspired by you."

Tony's shoulders sank. "Alright…" he said dejectedly.

Tony walked across the room towards the young woman. He stopped next to her and took a swig of his drink. He glanced at the young hero and held out his glass. Vivian looked up at him with wide eyes. "Have a sip," he said.

Vivian swallowed nervously. "Uh…I-I'm not twenty one."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I can see that." He shrugged. "Come on, no one's gonna care. Except for maybe Cap and that leader of yours. What did you say her superhero name was?"

Vivian cleared her throat. "Lady Liberty…"

Tony chuckled. "Oh, man, those two were made for each other," he muttered. He looked back at the teen. "One sip isn't gonna get you drunk."

Vivian glanced at the glass in his hand then back up at Tony. She stared for a long moment at the alcohol once again before shaking her head. "No, I shouldn't."

Tony sighed and shrugged. "Suit yourself." He finished off his glass and played with it in his hand. He glanced at Vivian. "How old are you, Viv?"

"Seventeen, Mr. Stark," she said quietly.

Tony grimace. "No, no. I'm not Mr. Stark – I'm Tony. It's time to ignore what your parents taught you and call an adult by their first name."

Vivian turned around and looked over the New York skyline. "My parents never taught me that." Tony turned around as well, waiting for Vivian to continue. "I learned it on my own. It's simply polite." She looked at her shoes. "My parents didn't teach me anything," she said under her breath. Tony looked at Vivian, trying to read her. Vivian sighed and looked up at Tony. "Being under age isn't the only thing holding me back from taking a drink. My father…he was an alcoholic. When I was thirteen he killed my mom, injured me, and killed himself." Vivian shrugged, trying to make it seem like nothing. "I've been living with the Defenders ever since. They take turns watching me – we all live in Atalanta's mansion." Vivian shrugged. "She been on Earth for about fifteen hundred years, she's had time to make a fortune."

"You were injured?" Tony asked.

Vivian reached into her ear and pulled out the tiniest of skin colored earbuds. "Hearing aids," she said. "Made 'em myself a year after the accident. They're a lot more comfortable and a lot less of a hassle than normal hearing aids. Going on ops with those?" Vivian's eyes widened and she blew out a breath. "Not fun…Not fun…" She swallowed and poked her tongue into her cheek before putting the tiny tech back into her ear.

Tony waited for a few moments for deciding to speak again. "So the Defenders were assembled five years ago?" Vivian nodded. "You would've been twelve."

"Yeah. My aunt and uncle both worked for HELP. They saw the genius my parents couldn't see and got me a place with home-based operatives. That's why I'm considered the Hacker: I would control all the tech from miles away. I'd take control of the security cameras, motion sensors, clocks, timers, you name it. I even talked Sandra through diffusing a bomb once." Tony looked impressed and Vivian smiled. "I began going out into the field almost two years ago now. That was when I finished my first suit." She glanced up at Tony. "I have a budget – I'm not a billionaire."

Tony chuckled. "So what do you call yourself?"

"Iron Maiden."

"After the band?"

"You know it."

Stark and Vivian high-fived.

Clint and Kenzie laughed hysterically from across the room. A few heroes glanced at them. Kenzie giggled into her shot-glass and Clint filled himself another serving of liquor. Sandra and Steve both stood up, walking over to their own teammate. "Clint," said Steve, "I think you've had enough." Steve took away his shot-glass and Sandra confiscated Kenzie's.

The female archer looked genuinely hurt. "Aww…But, Sandra," she slurred with her Canadian accent, "we were playin' a game."

Sandra nodded. "Yes, I can see that."

Kenzie leaned closer to her leader. "And I think I was winnin'…" she said in a loud whisper, grinning.

"No you weren't," said Clint, waving his hand around, "you've got your accent, so you're drunk. I win."

"But you've got…alcohol breath. You're drunk, so I win, buddy." She reached towards the shot-glass in Sandra's hand but her team leader kept it out of reach.

Sandra and Steve put the glasses behind the bar. Sandra walked over to Arnold at the other side of the island. "Keep an eye on them, okay, Arnold?"

Arnold nodded and Sandra smiled in thanks before going back to the couch. Arnold watched her walk away before turning back to Natasha. Nat was watching Clint and Kenzie tell stupid jokes (that weren't funny) and laugh their lungs out because of them. Natasha gave a small smile and shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered.

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Everyone sat on the couches, watching Clint and Kenzie's drunken antics. Sandra was sitting right next to Vivian, keeping a close eye on her. Clint and Kenzie giggled at a cheesy sex joke. Vivian looked up at Sandra, completely clueless.

Oh, so innocent.

Clint cleared his throat and put on a straight face. "Fifty bucks says you can't hit a bullseye on all of the targets in the archery range."

Kenzie grinned and giggled. "You're nuttier than a Tim Horton's maple log." She dove behind the couch and picked up her bow and quiver. "Timmy-Ho!"

Sandra stood up and walked over to her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, no Kenzie. You are not handling any weapons while you are this drunk."

"What," said Kenzie, "you just afraid I'll win the bet, eh?"

Clint snickered. "You said 'eh'."

"Yeah, I said 'eh'," said Kenzie. "Do you have a problem with that, eh?"

Clint snickered again. Kenzie stumbled towards him, fiddling with her bow. Arnold stood and put a hand on her arm. Kenzie looked up at her towering teammate with wide eyes. "I say we go back to the mansion; you are in no position to do anything at this time. You are too far under the influence." He nodded at Sandra.

"You too, Clint," said Natasha, "you aren't getting out of this one." Clint scowled.

Tony clapped his hands together. "Well, it was fun while it lasted."

That statement began a series of goodbyes. As the Defenders left the tower, Tony couldn't help but notice that Arnold was still holding onto Kenzie and were the first ones in the group. Sandra was in the back of the group, holding onto Vivian's shoulder, who was the one furtherest from Kenzie. Vivian smiled at Tony and the billionaire handed her a slip of paper. Vivian looked down at the folded piece of paper in her hand. "What's this?" Vivian ask, holding up the paper.

Tony shrugged nonchalantly. "My private cellphone number. If you ever need help with a suit–" he nodded, "–you know who to call."

Vivian grinned and nodded. "Thank you Mr. S–" she cut herself off quickly. "Er…Thanks Tony."

"No prob," said Stark with a smile. Vivian left but Sandra staid behind. She smiled at Tony. "Thanks, Stark," she said, "she needed that." And Sandra smiled at the others before following her team on out.

"Well, that was fun."

 **And there you have it :) I'll be posting an actual Avengers story soon, so keep an eye out for my story: Out of Range**


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